The First Chapter
by bright eyed writer
Summary: Paige Noble wasn't in the best of places, to say the least. Her writing career wasn't going where she wanted it to, she was one of the most hated woman in the police world, she's just found out her fiancée has been cheating on her and she's living on her friends sofa, whose husband also hates her. To add insult to injury, she's bored. NOTHING happens to her!


AN – Okay, so I usually try and keep myself focused on one story at a time but I couldn't help this. I've recently been introduced to this TV series and, within a month, watched every episode, brought the box set, read most of the stories on Fanfiction and also came up with plenty of ideas of my own. With this, I'm kind of doing the impossible… I'm replacing John Watson with my OC. Please don't hate me. I wanted to try something new and I noticed that most OC stories are having a female version of John or adding the OC to Sherlock and John's adventures. Please let me know what everyone think, I love reading reviews :)

**A Study in Pink – Part One**

_"Paige? Paige, answer the phone... Please, Paige. Don't be a bitch. I'm trying to explain if you'll just let me... This is silly, come on. You don't know what was going on in my life... in my head. Paige, I've forgiven you for plenty. Stop acting like a spoilt little child and answer the damn phone! ... You know what? Have a nice life."_

Kate rolled her eyes as she listened to her best friend's voice mail. She knew that, despite what he said, this wouldn't be the last time he called Paige. Based on the fact that he'd called, texted and turned up on her doorstep, in the last few days, more times than she could count. But, honestly, how was he expecting to win her back based on that?! She glanced at Paige's sleeping form and sighed sadly as she watched her friend twist and turn in her sleep, clearly having another bad night and the sofa wasn't going to make it any better.

Paige Noble groaned when she woke from her minimal amount of sleep. Partly because of the pain in her back and also because of the fact that the sun had unfortunately, and irritatingly, risen, and she had to get up and earn a living. She would much rather stay asleep all day - better yet, she would much rather go home and have her own bed back... once she burnt the sheets. She felt movement in front of her face and she peeked out with one eyes, hiding a smile when she saw her goddaughters face just inches from her own.  
"Auntie Paige?" Lily whispered, poking her cheek. "Auntie Paige, can we play again? Auntie Pai - ahh!" Paige jumped up and grabbed the four year old, pulling her onto the sofa and under the quilt. Lily's screams turned into shrieks of laughter. "I knew you were awake, really." She insisted, still giggling.

Paige laughed with her. "Liar." She kissed her cheek loudly, making Lily scream and scramble to get away even more.  
"Are you looking after me today?" Lily asked when Paige reluctantly let her go a little while later to tidy up the sofa.  
"I wish." Paige sighed, her heart melting as she looked at the wide blue, innocent eyes. "I can't today, babes. I have a press conference."  
"That's boring!"  
"I know!"  
"Then why do it?"  
"Because she needs money so that she can get her own place." Leo appeared at the doorway; a large, false smile on his face. Lily cheered when she saw him, rushing up to him and throwing herself into his arms. Over her shoulder, Leo's smile faded into a look of irritation that Paige ignored to the best of her ability. It had been a secret between them, especially when her best friend began dating him, that Leo had once had a thing for her. And that she had turned him down, repeatedly. She didn't want Kate to know that, she didn't want Kate to know that the reason Leo hung around them so much during the time they met wasn't because of her. Kate craved Leo's attention and Paige was not about to burst her bubble. Her friend was happy, and that was all she wanted for her. But she desperately needed to get her own place because Leo's digs and dirty looks were beginning to grate on her nerves.

"Auntie Paige, do you want pancakes?" Lily asked, looking up at her so adorably that Paige couldn't help but smile.

"I can't sweetie. Maybe next time."

"You're leaving without breakfast?" Kate asked, walking into the room. Paige's eyes darted towards Leo for a split second before she answered.  
"Yeah, the press conference starts in just under an hour."

"Okay, well, don't forget to get something to eat. You're way too thin." Kate ordered with mock stern-ness, once again acting like the big sister. She reached over and handed Paige the phone. "_He _left a message."

Paige just nodded, that was hardly surprising. Though she _still _listened to it over and over as she walked to the press conference. Her heart _still _feeling like it was breaking with every word.

...

"The body of Beth Davenport, Junior Minister for Transport, was found late last night on a building site in Greater London." Detective Sergeant Sally Donovan told the reporters. Paige listened intently from the back of the room, making notes every few seconds. "Preliminary investigations suggest that this was suicide. We can confirm that this apparent suicide closely resembles those of Sir Jeffery Patterson and James Phillimore. In the light of this, these incidents are now being treated as linked. The investigation is ongoing but Detective Inspector Lestrade will take questions now." Paige sat up straight, patiently waiting for a chance to speak as everyone surrounding her jumped in. It was no wonder she was skint, she needed to try and be more ruthless.

"Detective Inspector, how can suicides be linked?" one of them asked.  
"Well, they all took the same poison." DI Lestrade explained calmly. "Um, they were all found in places they had no reason to be. None of them had shown any prior indication of - "  
"But you can't have serial suicides." The reported interrupted.

"Well, apparently you can." Lestrade said, slightly more sharper.  
"These three people, there's nothing that links them?" another reporter asked.  
"There's no link been found _yet, _but we're looking for it. There has to be one."  
Paige looked down at her bag when her phone beeped, looking around in confusion as she heard a familiar noise repeatedly throughout the room, everyone looking down at their phones. Paige pulled hers out of her bag. _'Wrong!' _It stated. What was wrong?

"If you've all got texts, please ignore them." Donovan called out, having glanced at her own phone just a moment before.  
"It just says 'wrong'." The journalist next to her said. He turned to look at her. "That's weird, right?"  
"Certainly can't be a coincidence." Paige muttered, glancing around the room again. _What was wrong? _She thought again. _The police? Where they wrong? No surprise there. _Paige sat there silently as a million thoughts ran through her head, every question she had prepared this morning disappearing by every passing second.

"Yeah, well, just ignore that." Donovan snapped. "Okay, if there are no more questions for Detective Inspector Lestrade, I'm going to bring this session to an end."

"But if they're suicides, what are you investigating?" a reporter cut in as they moved to leave their seats, forcing them to sit back down.  
"As I say, these... these suicides are _clearly _linked. Um, it's a... it's an unusual situation. We've got our best people investigating - "  
Everyone's phone chimed again. Paige looked down at hers; _'Wrong!' _She bit her lip, looking at Lestrade and Donovan curiously, noting how irritated they were. They knew whoever was doing this.

"Say's 'wrong' again." The first reporter said. Lestrade gave a pointed look at Donovan, making Paige's eyes narrow suspiciously.  
"One more question." Donovan told them. Paige sat up straighter, opening her mouth to speak, but was beaten to it. Again.  
"Is there any chance that these are murders, and if they are, is this the work of a serial killer?" a blonde reporter from the Daily Mail asked.  
Lestrade shifted in his seat. "I know that you like writing about these, but these do appear to be suicides. We know the difference. The, um, the poison was _clearly _self-administered."  
"Do you believe that the police force are doing everything they can to prevent any more of these 'suicides'?" Paige called out.  
"We _are _doing everything we can to get to the bottom of this." Lestrade stressed.  
"But how can you? If you can't even be certain whether these are suicides - that can't always be prevented, or murders - that can." Paige asked, earning a few nods of agreement from the press and a scowl from the police. "How can you expect people to keep themselves safe?"

"Well, don't commit suicide." Lestrade muttered. The press began muttering to each other while Paige kept her eyes on the DI and Donovan, catching Donovan murmur something to him. He grimaced, looking at Paige more warily now. The red head stopped herself from bursting out laughing. "Obviously this is a frightening time for people, but all anyone has to do is exercise reasonable precautions. We are all as safe as we want to be." Everyone's phones chimed for a third time. This time, Paige didn't even bother looking. She knew something was wrong about this case, she didn't need to be told. Not anymore, anyway. Detective Inspector Lestrade looked at his own phone in exasperation before standing up. "Thank you." He addressed the reporters, ignoring the questions they were calling out as he and Donovan walked out of the room. Paige sat in silence - she didn't see the point in calling out when the conference had already ended - alone with her thoughts.

...

"How are you after everything?" Molly asked, looking at Paige in concern as they sat in the St. Bartholomew's Hospital cafeteria. She had met Molly Hooper a little over a year ago, when she'd interviewed her over her job in the morgue, they had hit it off straight away and the two of them had stayed friends ever since. Paige found Molly to be very sweet, a little naive maybe but sweet nevertheless.

Paige grimaced. "I'm fine. _He_ just won't give up."  
"Nine years is a long time." Molly commented, taking a bite out of her batch.

"I know, but he's at fault here. Not me."

Molly jumped in her seat as if she'd been shocked. "Oh, no. Don't get me wrong. I mean, I know what he did. I'm happy that you've left him. I mean - not _happy _just - "  
"Molly." Paige interrupted with a small smile. "I know what you meant. Relax." Molly did just that, slumping down in her seat slightly. "Shouldn't you be working? It's not lunch already, is it?"  
"Sherlock's flogging the corpse at the moment." Molly told her, her voice muffled through her food.  
Paige stared at her. "I'm sorry?" she leaned forwards, not quite sure she heard her right. Molly thought about what she said for a moment before smiling.  
"Don't worry about it." She said, though something about her comment seemed to make her remember something. "Could I borrow your lipstick? I forgot mine."

"You don't need it, but here." Paige handed it over before taking a sip of her coffee.

Molly beamed at the compliment but didn't hesitated to take the lipstick. "Thanks." She said before becoming serious again. Paige sighed, she knew what was coming. "So, how's the living arrangements going?"  
"Fine." Molly stared at her. Paige sighed before reluctantly adding, "I'm sleeping on a mate's sofa. I never realised how expensive London was."

Molly gave her a sad look as she stood up, having glanced at the time and realised she needed to be going. "You could always stay with me, if you want." Seeing that the offer wouldn't be accepted, she said, "You could always get a flat share. That will make the cost easier. Look, I've got to go. I'll see you soon."  
"Bye." Paige muttered as Molly walked off. She sighed, looking down at her drink. "Who'd want _me _for a flatmate?"  
She heard a chuckle behind her and turned to see a larger man with glasses, sitting at the table behind her. He had twisted slightly in his seat to look at her. "Sorry, you're the second person to say that around me today."  
Paige thought for a moment. "Who was the first?"

...

The man introduced himself as Mike Stamford and, while he didn't go into detail, he did mention that this mysterious person was in the hospital at that exact moment. Maybe Paige had a moment of insanity or was just desperate to get off Kate's sofa, but she let him lead her through the corridors of the hospital, towards a lab that she recognised as a place Molly worked in often - where a pale man was standing at the far end, working. He glanced up at them when Mike knocked and, for a split second, pale blue eyes met chocolate brown before he returned to his work. Paige studied him for a moment. He was a tall man - compared to her anyway - and was rather slim, emphasised by the suit he was wearing. There was a sense of confidence, and arrogance, about the man - the corners of his mouth pulled up slightly into a hint of a smile.

"Wow." Paige breathed when she caught sight of the equipment. Mike chuckled, clearly amused at her reaction.  
"Mike," the man said, sitting down. "Can I borrow your phone? There's no signal on mine."  
"And what's wrong with the landline?" Mike asked.  
"I prefer to text."  
"It's in my coat."

Paige hesitated for a moment, before pulling out her phone from her bag. "You can use mine." She offered.  
He looked at her, seeming surprised though, for some reason, Paige didn't quite believe it was real. But then, why would he fake being surprised over something so trivial? "Oh, thank you." He glanced between her and Mike as he made his way over to her.  
"This is... Paige Noble?" Mike looked at her to make sure. He continued when she nodded. "She's a friend of Molly's."  
The man - her phone in his hands as he texted away - turned away from her slightly. "How long were the two of you together?" he asked.  
She frowned at him. "I'm sorry. What?"  
"Your fiancée. How long were you together?"  
Paige stared at him for a moment. "Nine years." How did he know?  
"Ah, Molly, coffee." He said suddenly. "Thank you."

Molly handed the man a mug before finally realising who was standing next to her. She beamed. "Hey."  
Paige smiled back slightly, still a little unnerved about the man before her. "Hey."  
He handed Paige her phone back without looking at her, studying Molly closely. "What happened to the lipstick?" he asked. Molly smiled awkwardly but didn't look at all surprised that he'd noticed.  
"It wasn't working for me."  
"Really? I thought it was a big improvement. You're mouths too small now." He turned and went back to his work. "Though it does suit Paige more."  
Paige gaped at him, surprised someone could be so tactless. "She doesn't need it." She blurted out.  
"And you think you do." It wasn't a question, it was a statement. He took a sip of his coffee and grimaced.  
Molly gave her a small shrug. "It's fine." She muttered, looking a little down nevertheless, before leaving the room. No it wasn't. Paige frowned at the man, biting her lip to stop herself from shouting abuse at him.  
"How do you feel about the violin?" he asked suddenly.

She looked around in confusion but realised that he was talking to her when she caught sight of Mike smirking. "Violin?"  
"I play the violin when I'm thinking. Sometimes I don't talk for days on end." He looked at her. "Would that bother you? Potential flatmates should know the worst about each other." He gave her a smile. Fake, she noted again.  
"Who said anything about flatmates?"  
"I did." He said, putting on his coat. Paige had to admit that it was a nice coat, it suited him a lot. "Told Mike this morning that I must be a difficult man to find a flatmate for. Now here he is, just after lunch, with a friend of a colleague that he obviously hasn't met before since he couldn't remember her name, who has clearly just had a bad break-up. Wasn't that difficult a leap."  
"How did you know about my fiancée?" she watched him wrap his scarf around his neck.  
"Got my eye on a nice little place in central London. Together we ought to be able to afford it." He walked over to her. "We'll meet there tomorrow evening, seven o'clock. Sorry - gotta dash. I think I left my riding crop in the mortuary."  
"What, that's it?" Paige asked, laughing in disbelief. He stopped just as he reached the door and turned back to her. "We know nothing about each other and now we're going to look at a flat together?"  
"Problem?"  
"Well, for one, we know nothing about each other. For all I know you could be a serial killer. I don't know your name and or even where we're meeting."  
He stared at her for a moment before walking further into the room. "I know that you've been in a long term relationship and that you've been engaged for quite some time before you left him. He took it badly. So badly in fact that he got violent for the first and only time during the relationship and now he won't leave you alone. Despite the fact that you left him, you're still considering going back to him - don't, you deserve better. You're a journalist working on the suicides. You have a niece that you adore but don't get to see often. Possibly the child of your sister whose sofa you're currently sleeping on." He smirked. "That's enough to be going on, don't you think?" He turned back to the door, giving Paige time to look at Mike, letting her shock show. Mike smiled. "The name's Sherlock Holmes and the address is two one B Baker Street." Sherlock said, stopping when he was half way out the door. He winked at her before leaving. "Afternoon."

"Yeah. He's always like that." Mike told her as she stared at the closed door.

...

The next day, Paige went to 221B Baker Street. She was curious about Sherlock Holmes, which is why that as soon as she got back to Kate and Leo's she looked him up. Once you got past the useless and random trivia it was actually quite interesting... though she didn't believe for one minute that he could tell so much about someone from so little. It had to be a trick. Molly must've mentioned her to him in passing and he did some research. Obviously has too much time on his hands.

She stopped outside 221B Baker Street and knocked on the black door, catching sight of the cafe next door as a taxi pulled up behind her. Sherlock got out, not looking at all surprised that she was there. "Hello." He said to her before turning back into the cab with some money. "Thank you."  
"Mr Holmes." Paige gave him a polite smile.  
"Sherlock, please." He held out his hand. Paige wasn't one to hold a grudge... okay, maybe she was. She still wasn't very impressed with how he spoke to Molly yesterday, but she wasn't rude. She shook his hand.

"Nice area. Must be expensive." She commented, trying not to let the worry show through her voice. There is no way she could afford this.

Sherlock didn't look at all worried. "Oh, Mrs Hudson, the landlady, she's giving me a special deal. Owes me a favour. A few years back, her husband got himself sentences to death in Florida. I was able to help out."  
"You stopped him from being executed?" Paige asked, impressed. Whether it was a trick or not, it was still good.

Sherlock smirked. "Oh no. I ensured it." He stated casually as the door opened to reveal an older woman. She beamed when she saw Sherlock and opened her arms.

"Sherlock, hello!" She cried.

Sherlock smiled widely as he hugged her briefly, before taking a step back and introducing her to Paige. "Mrs Hudson, Paige Noble."  
"Hello." Mrs Hudson smiled at her kindly, surprising Paige by pulling her into a hug. "You're too skinny. Come on up, we'll soon fix that." Sherlock paid no attention to the two women as he walked into the house, Mrs Hudson leading her in not long after.

The hallways of the house was dim - too dim to make out much and, not for the first time, Paige considered whether or not this was all a set up. That Sherlock Holmes _was _a serial killer and Mrs Hudson wasn't the sweet, old lady she seemed to be, but his accomplice. As they entered 221B, Mrs Hudson let go off her and wandered off down the corridor. Sherlock, on the other hand, bounded up the stairs, two at a time, while Paige hesitated at the bottom. He looked down at her impatiently when he realised that she wasn't behind him. 'Come on!' he mouthed, nodding his head in the direction of the flat.

Paige took a deep breath. _'I'm just being stupid!' _she thought to herself, before slowly walking up the stairs, afraid that if she moved too quickly she'd panic and fall on her face. Sherlock rolled his eyes but didn't comment when she eventually reached him. Instead, he silently opened the door ahead of them and walked in. Paige followed cautiously - she was not completely sure what she'd been expecting but she was relieved when she saw the cluttered living room.  
"This'll be great." Paige said, after a moment or two. She could picture herself living here; it was spacious, it was in a nice part of the city and as far away from Jack as possible.

Sherlock smiled. "Yes. Yes, I think so. My thoughts precisely. So I went ahead and moved in." He added on the end, at the same time as Paige asked, "Is that why you've moved in?" They stared at each other for what seemed like forever before Paige looked away awkwardly, catching sight of an item on the mantelpiece.

"You have a skull."  
"Friend of mine." Paige couldn't help but shiver when she saw the gleam in Sherlock's eyes. "When I say 'friend'..."  
"What do you think, Paige?" Mrs Hudson asked, appearing at her side as Sherlock took off his coat. "There's another bedroom upstairs if you'll be _needing _two rooms."

Paige froze but Sherlock seemed unfazed by the comment. "We'll be needing two rooms." Paige said, quietly but firmly.

Mrs Hudson's smile didn't fade as she tapped her nose secretly. "Keep 'em keen." She whispered cheerfully, before walking towards the kitchen. She stopped suddenly. "Oh, Sherlock. The mess you've made." She sighed.

Paige gazed at Sherlock, who seemed content at sorting through his things. "I looked you up last night." She blurted out.

He turned to her, curious. "Anything interesting?"  
"Well..." Paige hesitated, depended on what you thought was interesting. "I found your website."  
"What did you think?"  
"I'm dumb, I couldn't follow some of it." She admitted easily. He studied her for a moment before shaking his head. She decided not to comment on it, wondering whether she'd get insulted like Molly or complimented again, which would creep her out to be honest. "I found all of the deduction stuff interesting, though you didn't really go into detail about how it works."  
"Works?"  
"Yeah, it's a neat trick."  
"It's not a trick." He said sharply.  
"Don't get me wrong, it's a very impressive trick but... you said that you could identify a software designer by his tie and an airline pilot by his left thumb."  
"Yes, and I can read your breakup by your left arm and your career by your phone."  
"How?" she asked, he just smiled smugly but made no attempt at answering.

Mrs Hudson came out of the kitchen, reading a newspaper. "What about these suicides then, Sherlock?" she smiled fondly at his back, as he gazed out of the window. Paige looked up at hearing about the case she was working on. "I thought that'd be right up your street. Three exactly the same."  
"Four." Sherlock corrected. Paige listened intently. "There's been a fourth. And something's different this time."  
"A fourth?" Mrs Hudson questioned. Before Sherlock could elaborate, a man, Paige recognised as Detective Inspector Lestrade, ran into the room looking dishevelled.

"Where?" Sherlock asked instantly.  
"Brixton, Lauriston Gardens."  
"What's new about this one? You wouldn't have come to get me if there wasn't something different." Paige looked between them curiously.

"You know how they never leave notes?"  
Sherlock nodded, Paige had to stop herself. "Yeah."  
"This one did." Paige hid her surprise by looking away quickly. "Will you come?"  
"Who's on forensics?"  
"It's Anderson."  
Sherlock grimaced. "Anderson won't work with me."  
Lestrade rolled his eyes, making Paige suspect that there had been a very long feud between the two men. "He won't be your assistant."  
"I _need _an assistant."  
"Will you come?" Lestrade pressed.

Sherlock thought for a moment before answering. "Not in a police car. I'll be right behind."  
Lestrade relaxed. "Thank you." He turned to leave but stopped short when he caught sight of Paige. "You! What the hell are you doing here?!"  
Paige looked up awkwardly as Sherlock and Mrs Hudson turned to look at her. "Looking at the flat." She said calmly.

Lestrade scoffed, looking between her and Sherlock. "Brilliant! That's just great! Thanks a lot for yesterday, by the way. You were a real help."

Paige tried to look innocent. She _did _try... "All I did was ask a question."  
"That made us look like idiots!" He glanced between her and Sherlock. "Both of you did. You're a match made in heaven!" He declared sarcastically before storming out of the room.  
Sherlock stood in silence until he heard the front door close, then he leaps into the air excitedly. "Brilliant!" He cheered. "Yes! Ah, four serial suicides, and now a note! Oh, it's Christmas!" Paige watched silently, her mind reeling, Sherlock started putting his scarf and coat back on as he strode into the kitchen. "Mrs Hudson, I'll be late. Might need some food."  
Mrs Hudson rolled her eyes. "I'm your landlady, dear. Not your housekeeper." She scolded softly.

"Something cold will do. Paige, have a cup of tea, make yourself at home." He grabbed a small leather pouch from the kitchen table and disappeared down the hall. "Don't wait up!"  
Mrs Hudson sighed heavily, leaning against the arm of the chair Paige was sitting on. "Look at him, dashing about! _My _husband was just the same." She told her. Paige grimaced at yet another insinuation that she and Sherlock were a couple. Why did Mrs Hudson think they were a couple?! "But you're more the sitting down type, I can tell. I'll make you that cuppa."

"Oh, you don't have to." Paige told her. "I can manage."  
Mrs Hudson shrugged her off. "I don't mind. Just this once, though dear. I'm not your housekeeper!"

Paige smiled sadly as she watched Mrs Hudson bustle out of the flat. She always felt awkward when someone did something nice for her - she wasn't used to it. All her life, even while she was living with Jack, she took care of herself. And, while she already adored Mrs Hudson (now she no longer suspected her of being a killer's accomplice) and was grateful for her trying to make her feel welcome, she felt guilty about the entire situation.  
"You're a journalist." A voice startled her out of her daze. She glanced up again to see Sherlock standing in the doorway, watching her curiously. "Not just that, you're an investigating, free-lance journalist."  
"Yes." Paige sat up straighter, waiting for him to tell her that she wasn't welcome. That this would work; a reporter and a guy who works with the police on delicate cases.

Sherlock nodded. "Any good?"  
Paige considered whether or not she should be modest. "Very."  
She sat still as Sherlock studied her. "You got any information on this case."

"No more, if not less, than you." She admitted. Sherlock smirked.

"Wanna get some more?"  
Paige stared at him. Was he really suggesting what she thought he was? "Really?" she asked suspiciously.

Sherlock's smirk widened, though he didn't answer. Instead, he nodded his head in the direction of the stairs before disappearing down the hall again. Paige didn't hesitate to follow.

"Sorry, Mrs Hudson. I won't be needing that tea. I'm going out." She called, following Sherlock down the stairs.

Mrs Hudson came to a stop at the bottom, a look of surprise on her face. "Both of you?"

Sherlock, who had almost reached the front door, turned back to her. "Impossible suicides? Four of them? There's no point sitting at home when there's finally something _fun _going on!" He cried out happily, Paige couldn't help but smile when he kissed Mrs Hudson on the cheek. Maybe he wasn't so bad after all.

Mrs Hudson smiled. "Look at you, all happy. It's not decent." She scolded him, but watched him with a fond smile on her face as he walked back to the door.

"Who cares about decent? The game, Mrs Hudson, is on!" He opened the front door and walked out into the street. Paige smiled at Mrs Hudson as she heard him hail a taxi.

"Thank you, Mrs Hudson." She told the older woman, following Sherlock's example and kissing her on the cheek - though gentler than Sherlock - before following the strange man outside.

"It's no bother, dear." She heard Mrs Hudson say as she got into the cab.

...

They sat in silence for a long time; with Sherlock texting on his phone (something he does a lot, Paige noticed) and her sending him curious glances every now and then. What was he up to? Was he _seriously _taking a journalist to a crime scene? Was that even legal?!

"Okay, you've got questions." Sherlock stated. Maybe she wasn't being as discrete as she thought.

Paige nodded. "You could say that. Are we going where I think we're going?"  
"If you think we're going to the crime scene, yes. Next."  
"Do you think that's wise?"  
"Yes, you might be useful."  
Paige bit her lip. "Who are you, exactly? What do you do?"  
"What do you think?" he asked, looking at her curiously.

"You consult with the police over murders?" she guessed - it's what it seemed like, at least.

Sherlock smiled, but to Paige it seemed condescending. She wanted to smack it off his face. "Very good." He turned his eyes back to his phone. "I'm a consulting detective. Only one in the world. I invented the job."  
"And that trick you do helps?"  
He threw her a look. "When I first met you yesterday, I said 'how long were the two of you together?' You looked surprised."  
"Of course I was." Paige scoffed, was he really expecting any different. "But how does it work? How did you find out all of that out about me?"

"I saw it. When you walked into the lab you were touching your finger on your left hand, as if it was missing something that has been there for a while but was no longer present. That says that you were either engaged or married, but it had recently ended. Your posture is slightly hunched, as if your back's hurting, which suggests that you've been sleeping on a sofa but, other than that, you seem refreshed and relaxed. There's no sign of stress in your appearance whereas, with most married women who are getting a divorce, there would be. So, not married - long term engagement. Bit of a shot in the dark but I managed to get it right. When you handed me your phone, I caught sight of the bruise on your wrist." Sherlock glanced at it. "The bruise that is the exact size of a human hand, a _man's _hand. But you didn't even seem aware of it, your clothes are short sleeved which show that it's wasn't a regular occurrence. If it had been, you would've been used to hiding it. I could see that you're considering going back to him by the bracelet on the same wrist."

Paige looked down at her charm bracelet, the one Jack had got her not long after they started dating. The charms were mostly love heart gems, with one charm being different from the others. This charm was a small silver envelope with an inscription on the back, _I'll love you, now and always xxx_

"You're still wearing it even though you're the one to break it off. If he had left you, you would have carried on wearing it. People do - sentiment. Usually, if you had left him you wouldn't have kept it, the fact that you did tells me that you're not sure you want it to end."  
"You said that I shouldn't." Paige remembered. "That I deserved better."

Sherlock nodded. "Of course you do, in the time I had your phone he'd texted you three times - clearly he'd just got his lunch break. Your phone kept beeping while you were looking at the flat but you didn't even notice, that says that you've grown accustomed to it. By the look of that bruise on your wrist, I'll take a guess and say that it was made five days ago - five days and you're already used to him texting you constantly. He's not just trying to get you back, he's harassing you. Can't take no for an answer. From what I've seen of you, you're a sweet girl with a kind heart, you shouldn't be wasting your time on someone like him. One of the other interesting things I got from your phone was an unopened text." He held out his hand and she placed her phone in it silently. After a moment he held the phone back up for her to see. _'Wrong!' _"I sent texts to all of the journalists and reporters in the press conference for this case yesterday morning. It was left unopened but the other two weren't - you didn't look at the last one. Why? Because you had questions and, from how Lestrade acted in the flat, you were asking the right ones. Just what I need, someone who asks the right questions. I could tell that you've been around a child recently from the other bracelet on your opposite wrist. It's very clean, so it's new. There's no way those beads will stay clean for long so it was made recently - after you broke up with your fiancée. It's on the opposite of your other, so you want to keep some distance between the little girl and your past, you care about her. You're protective of your niece. But the fact that you've seen her recently, _after _breaking up you with your fiancée, suggests that the reason you're around her now is because you're living under the same roof."

They fell into silence one again, Sherlock biting his lip nervously while avoiding her gaze while Paige stared at him dumbfounded.

"That was… amazing." She breathed.

He looked at her, shocked. "Do you think so?" he asked, his disbelief clear in his voice. Paige rolled her eyes.

"Yes, I'm impressed. I still want to know how you do it, though."  
Sherlock frowned, deciding to ignore her last comment. "That's not what people normally say."  
"And what _do _they normally say?"  
"'Piss off'!" He gave her a brief smile as she laughed, before turning his attention back to the darkening streets passing by.

…

It was completely dark by the time they arrived at the large house, surrounded by police. Paige followed Sherlock out of the car and over towards the police tape – her heart hammering in her chest the closer they got, knowing that in just a few moment she'd have to deal with the fall-out. The truth was, the police despised her. She could see that some had already recognised her, judging by their dark glares.  
"Did I get anything wrong?" Sherlock asked, oblivious to her turmoil.

"Jack _did _get violent when I left him." Paige conceded. "I was considering going back to him, I am a journalist writing an article on this case and Lily gave me this bracelet last night, just before I went to sleep on her mother's sofa."

She smirked. "Spot on, then. I didn't expect to get everything right."  
"Lily's my god-daughter, her mother isn't my sister."

Sherlock's smirk fell. "Well, at least I was close. Ah, there's always something." He sighed heavily, looking annoyed at himself over the fact that he hadn't got every single bit of it right.  
"Hello freak." Donovan said as soon as they reached the tape. Paige's eyes narrowed at the greeting.

"I'm here to see Detective Inspector Lestrade." Sherlock told her casually, not fazed whatsoever, Paige suspected that this was a regular occurrence.

Donovan tensed. "Why?"  
"I was invited."  
"_Why?_"  
"I think he wants me to take a look." Sherlock replied sarcastically.

"Well, you know what I think, don't you?"  
"Always, Sally." He lifted the tape and ducked under it, pausing as he took a deep breath. "I even know you didn't make it home last night."  
Donovan froze. "I don't - "she caught sight of Paige for the first time. Her anxiety was replaced by hostility. "What the hell is she doing here?"  
Paige sighed quietly. "Colleague of mine, Paige Noble." Sherlock introduced, though it didn't matter. Donovan knew _exactly _who she was.

"She's a journalist!" Donovan snapped. "You're not taking her onto a crime scene!"  
"I think you'll find, I am."  
"Maybe I should stay out here." Paige suggested, trying to sound like she was completely fine with this new plan. She didn't want to stay outside - she was curious now. It was like being offered one million pounds only to have it taken away… only not as gutting.

Sherlock lifted the tape for her. "No." Paige hesitated, glancing at Donovan who looked ready to kill, before ducking under it.

"Freaks here, bringing him in." Donovan snarled over the radio, reluctantly walking them to the front door.

"You seem to have made quite the lasting impression." Sherlock muttered to her, amused.  
"I'm not very popular when it comes to cops." Paige muttered back. "I ask awkward questions."  
Sherlock snorted. "Clearly, they seem to hate you more than me."  
"Why is it that you sound so disappointed by that?"

Sherlock didn't answer, he'd caught sight of a man walking out of the house in front of them. "Ah, Anderson. Here we are again."  
"Oh, so this is Anderson?" Paige blurted out, everyone turned to look at her. She blushed. "Sorry."

Anderson scowled at Sherlock. "It's a crime scene. I don't want it contaminated. Are we clear on that?"

Sherlock took another deep breath, a slightly sinister smirk appearing on his face. Paige watched curiously, wondering what he had found out now. "Quite clear. And is your wife away for long?" he asked. Anderson rolled his eyes.

"Oh, don't pretend you worked that out. Somebody told you that."

"Your deodorant told me that."  
Anderson frowned, confused by the fact that Sherlock seemed to be enjoying himself. "My deodorant?"  
"It's for men."

"Well, of course it's for men! I'm wearing it!"  
"I'm guessing, so is Sergeant Donovan." Paige said, making everyone turn to look at her. She rolled her eyes when she saw Sherlock's shocked, and slightly impressed, expression. "What? You sniffed her, you sniffed him – I predicted where this was going."

Sherlock took a pointed sniff again as Donovan and Anderson glanced at each other nervously. "Ooh, I think it just vaporised. May I go in?"

Anderson turned on him angrily. "Now look, whatever you're trying to imply – "  
"I'm not implying anything." He walked past them to the front door. "I'm sure Sally came round for a nice little chat, and just happened to stay over." Paige went to follow him into the house but stopped short when he turned around abruptly. "And I assume she scrubbed your floors, going by the state of her knees." Paige stopped herself from laughing, just in time, as the couple stared at Sherlock in horror. Sherlock gave Paige a smug smile before leading her to a room on the ground floor, where they found Lestrade putting on coveralls.

He froze when he saw her. _Here we go again, _she thought to herself. "No, Sherlock. You've pulled a lot of stunts but this is pushing it. She _can't _be here!"

"You need to wear one of those." Sherlock told her, pointing to a pile of the clothing.

"Sherlock – "  
"I find her very interesting and she could very well be an asset to this case. She is staying." Sherlock said firmly, leaving no room for an argument. Lestrade sighed but gave in.

Paige grimaced as she put on the coveralls, already feeling self-conscious enough without them. She glanced up at Sherlock to see that he hadn't attempted to put them on himself, but had instead replaced his gloves for a pair of latex gloves. "Aren't you going to put these on?" she asked, earning herself a look from him that clearly stated, _don't be so stupid._

Sherlock turned to Lestrade. "So, where are we?" he asked.

"Upstairs." Lestrade told him shortly, obviously still annoyed by the fact Paige was there, giving by the amount of times he'd glanced at her in the last minute.

AN – I'd never realised how long these episodes were until I began writing… So, what did you think? Love it, hate it? Let me know either way :)


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